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KAUFMAN - "Or cramming in sex, or car chases, or guns. Or characters learning profound life lessons. Or characters growing or characters changing or characters learning to like each other or characters overcoming obstacles to succeed in the end. Y'know ? Movie shit."
Kaufman is sweating like crazy now. Valerie is quiet for a moment - from "Adaptation".

We are all about CINEMA. That movie shit.
NOTHING is sacred.
NOBODY is spared.
Because we talk about films, dammit.
Not your sex life.

Films, fests, unsung, indies, undiscovered - all that and some fun. If you have dope on anything related to cinema or you would like to share something, do write to us at moifightclub@gmail.com.

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Two nights in a row I read news of people I loved and admired re-admitted to hospital because their debilitating disease desired so. Two nights in a row I went to sleep asking and avoiding the terrible question, what if…? Two nights in a row I did not know I would wake up to the ‘what if’ coming true. They are stars, after all, they will be fine. And ultimately everyone has to die, they will too, but not now, not like this, I kept telling myself. But they did. I just didn’t know it would feel like this, so personal even words are saying I will give into the moment and stay silent.

Irrfan was my present, Rishi was my past, not everyone has such a glorious history; only those who share it will know. Between them they encompassed the art and commerce of the mostly silly Bollywood which both simply elevated by their sheer presence. Or even a smile. Where do I go look for them now?

The last time I felt this unnervingly devastated wasn’t yesterday, when I heard about Irrfan. The shared pain on my echo chamber of social media was so loud and deep, it somehow put my pain in convalescence. Irrfan was our present, how dare they take him away, everyone was screaming in unison. Even the ones who are generally rational and stoic about these matters. It was too deeply personal for everyone including myself, his leaving us, but in that collective heartbreak I found some solace to tide over the very, very unfair blow life and death had thrown at me, at all of us.

But with Rishi it feels like a family member has gone away and I am sitting and weeping away unable to wrap my head around what the hell is so devastating about this. The last time I felt this unnervingly devastated without understanding why was when Rajesh Khanna left us. I wasn’t even an ardent fan, just really liked him in everything he had done pre-80’s, everything that I keep hanging onto till date. I wrote about it here. I was mourning an entire era and my childhood he took away with him, making the present unrecognisable. I am sitting and mourning that again as Rishi takes away with him whatever was left of it.

But why am I weeping like a family member has passed on, Chintuji would you know? You, who with that chocolate boy innocence and lover-boy impishness never let me stay depressed for long? All I had to do was play one of your songs, mostly with RD and sing along ‘Hoga tumse pyaara kaun’ as though I meant it for you. I didn’t tell anyone but I did. You, whose manic energy uplifted everything and everyone around you in whatever dismal setting of a film you were placed in? It didn’t matter, your settings, coz whenever you were on screen it was like, ‘tere chehre se nazar nahi hathti nazare hum kya dekhe?’ You, who were so criminally under-rated despite coming from the First Family of Bollywood and being its best lover boy onscreen? When he received a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2008 for 25 yrs in the industry, I learnt the last Filmfare he received was in 1974, for his debut Bobby. That is how criminally under-rated he was and I decided to love him a little more from my end even though by then he was a pudgier version of himself, not the perfect lover boy Rishi of my dreams, but still with the same charisma, same charm, same exuberance, same enthusiasm for life.

The most attractive thing about Rishi Kapoor was not his smile, or looks, it was his enthusiasm for life that showed through in every performance. It was infectious, like how. Perhaps, that’s why when depressed all I cared to do was put on one of his songs with Neetu that RD had strung together, and live off that enthusiasm vicariously. Ek main aur ek tu, dono mile is tarah, ke he invariably put life back into my soul that was ready to give up. I still have those songs to go back to but I don’t have you anymore Rishi, and right now I am at a sheer loss what to do about that…

He was the only Bollywood celebrity I followed on Twitter for a long time, not even SRK. Twitter is such an extension of Bollywood PR it is really boring to keep buying those lies even our celebs themselves are not convinced about. But not Rishi, he was real. Fuck, he was real even in that jungle called Twitter and unabashedly so. Taking in all the hate and disdain with the same love he accepted our love. And that infectious enthusiasm for life. ‘I am ready to get back to acting,’ didn’t he say as soon as he was back from that 11-month long stint of treatment abroad? Where do I look for him now?

He was so, so, so good in his second innings. Sometimes, I thought, even better than in his prime. Perhaps, it was about the roles he got and the sincerity with which he performed them. And the accolades kept coming in, finally Filmfare was recognising him too. And he had so much more to give, and I was hungry to take. From the refreshingly honest portrayal of a Bollywood producer in Luck, by chance, to that loud, hammy, vile antagonist of Agneepath, to the cute, vulnerable, authentically middle-class father and husband of Do Dooni Chaar and more, he simply seemed to be this fountainhead of performance that kept giving. Put him in any role and all you had to say at the end of it was, waah, Chintuji, waah! With all heart and smiles. Who will I say that to now?

I feel extremely silly, and adolescent and naïve banging away at my keyboard trying to understand from where is this despair arising. The first time I felt it was with Shammi Kapoor and I have never been able to hear the Rockstar tune he performed without flinching ever since. Next was when Devsaab left us, the man we thought would go on and on living (and making films) even after we stop. He was my first love, I wrote about him here. Then Rajesh Khanna, then Shashi – that other breathtakingly beautiful Kapoor only comparable with his nephew Rishi. And then there was Sri…never mind. She was a piece of all our hearts. Sometimes, I think I will never accept she isn’t around anymore, I don’t, I won’t, I can’t.

Just like their films, and their eras they evaporated, taking with them everything that was special about growing up even in the dead, dank 80’s. And I am left screaming at the heavens at the injustice of it all. It was only films, after all, some would say. They were mere actors, others would say. They were only dream sellers and tricksters of your imagination, many would say. Yes, but then why did they stick so close to reality? Why did they inform life so dearly like it depended on them and their smiles, their styles, their guiles? If they were only dreams, is this how dreams always end? Taking away all those parts of your childhood that you thought would live on despite yourself?

But then, as you find out, they don’t. Those parts go where your beloved heroes and heroines go. And perhaps, it is better that way, they were meant to be together, they will be safe. As for us, who have been left behind, without our pasts and without all those who kept the past breathing long after it was gone, ‘we will always have Paris’. Long live, Irrfan, long live Rishi, and long live all the heroes and heroines taken away from us. I feel more anger than love right now, but as they say, anger is nothing but love that has no place to go so here is hoping all of them are feeling the love wanting to reach them. I have fused my past, my childhood, various parts of my identity and some of my best memories with you and sent them along to keep you safe and remind you that you will be loved always.

And that you will live forever. Wherever you go, we will always have Paris. I will meet you there.

Zohra Sehgal, a name that symbolizes liveliness, and truly defines ‘Life’ in every possible way. The unmatched charm, the animated smile on that expressive face, and the young heart, even at this age it fills every ambiance with so much joy and happiness. Forget real life, look at any of her pictures and you realise that it’s so easy for the camera to capture it.

The living legend completes a century “full of Life” today on April 27, 2012. Born exactly 100 years ago, Zohra started her career as a dancer with Uday Shankar, was later associated with IPTA & Prithvi Theater and made her onscreen debut in Khwaja Ahmed Abbas’s much acclaimed Dharti Ke Laal in 1946.

Here’s a rare clip of her onscreen appearance in Dharti Ke Lal.

In recent years she has continued to work in films and has made her unique presence felt strongly in films like Dil Se, Bend it Like Beckham, Saaya & Cheeni Kum.

Hundred & not out, we wish Zohra Sehgal many more years of life…a life that has priceless memories to share, stories to tell and moments to cherish.

Happy 100 years, Zohra-ji!

(PS – ANI recently did an interview with her. It’s in three parts. Click here to start with the first part.)

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We are a strange industry. We rarely get to hear filmmakers, producers or actors talking about anything else other than their films. And when most films are nothing to talk about, it’s the worst place to be in. Sometimes it feels like we are an industry ruled by bunch of philistines – no art, culture, or political interest. Only endorsement they understand is the money making mantra. Only chicken soup for soul they know is Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. And so this video came as a refreshing change. Filmmaker Mansoor Khan at TedxTalks – trying to make sense of this insane world.

Not sure when was the last time it happened – so many extreme reactions to a film. From pretentious, fuck boring to one of the best debuts, even best thing that happened to Indian Cinema in recent years. They said it all. And the critics’ ratings varied from 2.5 to 4 stars. Click here for all the ratings.

Sunayna Prabhu loved every bit of it. When she did cinema journalism in Bombay, she bothered least about films. And when she had nothing much to do after moving to USA, she got so interested in films that she surprised us all. And when she decided to go for screenwriting course at UCLA, it was hard to believe that she was the same ‘dihadi‘ colleague we knew. Now she just loves her everyday struggle with words. She saw Mumbai Diaries ( Note – its not Dhobi Ghat there) recently and blames Kiran Rao for making her so nostalgic about the city. Read on…scattered thoughts from her diary….

Any one with an aversion to evocative text can stop right here. This post is as much an intellectual masturbation as the movie that sent me out groaning to my husband “I’m leaving you for Pratiek Babber”. ‘Mumbai Diaries’ released in Hollywood this Friday and I ran to see it merely for nostalgia but it pierced through my gut and took a bit of me in every beat.

The movie seduced me despite the desolation it portrays. I yearn to return to my city against the threat that I might never have a real friend on speed dial and chances are I’ll empty my heart to a rickshaw driver. I even had a heated argument with a roommate who called it dark, depressing and disjointed! The moment I learnt her favorite movie is ‘Yaadein’, I pushed her out and slammed the door. “Movie whore” she yelled at me.

Character is You

Once I had locked myself in my studio apartment for two months. No cellphones, no radio, no TV, just writing a story that wrapped my whole existence. When I wrote like a reclusive creep, I literally became that woman in my story. I wore reds, smudged more kohl in my eyes and spoke in a husky voice that wasn’t mine. I lived her! When Aamir’s character Arun, wears Yasmin’s silver chain and ring, I get it! When he goes to the beach and writes on the sand, I get it. When she dies, a part of her that he’s been living, dies. He becomes his own muse and that’s why the storm in his stomach! He bursts out the door to seek someone, but cringes and mourns like a baby in front of a neighbor who won’t even blink.

Mumbai is not Madhubala

So many times I’ve walked the streets of Mumbai after a fight with a bare face to the world “No one cares.” Yet, there’s always the flower girl at the traffic light who’ll stare into your eyes like she knows, the Eunuchs who’ll bless you without a penny, and the rickshaw driver will play Burman in the rain. The city has it’s own morphine. Just like the movie, scattered with images of people that make it livable. Whoever says the filmmaker should have shown a bit of Mumbai’s beauty, go take a flying fuck because Mumbai is not Madhubala. Mumbai is that dirty, raunchy, intoxicating temptress who’ll whip you to tears of ecstasy.

“Mumbai my love, my whore!” Don’t all artists ejaculate their inspiration and breathe like they’ve had an orgasm? I do!

Aah Aamir, Ooh Prateik

Also loved Kiran’s choices, except Aamir Khan. Why does he arch those eyebrows and bulge pupils into the camera to prove he’s intense? Leech. He sucked the flesh and blood of his own character. Oh the long drags, perfect rings of smoke, the pompous Marc Jacobs and Calvin Klein’s and that cocky grey hair. A twit- stuck-in-Ghajini murdered a delicious, fragile, sensitive character! Aah Aamir – You give men blue-balls and the reason why women never hit the big O! Exhale honey, will you?

Few, very few, snippets of Yasmin Noor’s dialogue through her ‘Mumbai darshan’ videos were corny, but they were true to her character. Yasmin, an immigrant like me, tries to introduce the beauty of a foreign land eagerly to her family that probably has taken her absence for granted. She’s that “outsider” within many of us. I often get philosophical while saying the most trivial things about America. I’ve recorded the streets of Hollywood and Miami while ‘Des mera rangeela babu’ played the background score in my car. Yasmin’s background score is her ‘voice’ “Yeh samunder sab kuch apne aap mein samet leta hai’ although cringe-worthy, it’s real! Perhaps the director nailed it! My heart flipped out when she talks about the taste of mangoes in the city versus her hometown. Agreed it’s not poetry, but I get it. When I walk into the aisles of American grocery stores and find hormone-injected produce everywhere, I lose my appetite. “yahan ke aam mein wahan jaise taste kahan” That voice is real.

Munna! I don’t care who he bangs – rats, clothes or hideous women. Pratiek is my “bitter-chocolate boy.” Irresistible. Unstoppable. A guy I’d love to remake ‘9 ½ weeks’ with. He’s not just going to eat up those blue-blooded run-of-the-mill kapoors and stone-faced Imran’s, he’ll hopefully force great writers and talented filmmakers to surface. Hope he won’t drink n drive and kill people on the sidewalks, rest assured, in all my dreams I’ll have his babies.

Shai is an Indian-American like me. She doesn’t rely on subtext; she just knows her shit too well. She’s just being a true friend to Munna hoping not to polarize him like her maid Agnes who brings tea in a separate cup for him. Shai connects with Arun but doesn’t ever impose herself into his life. I saw a typical liberal woman, confident of her sexuality. That’s not as rare in Mumbai these days, or is it ?

Loved the neighbor. Such a strong metaphor for the people who live next door. None, I mean it, none of my neighbors in Mumbai ever spoke to me. I saw them only in the mornings putting garbage bins out the door. I didn’t care. There are nosey neighbors, but who is committed to your daily life? No one! The mute neighbor runs like an understated theme throughout the timeline of the movie. Gorgeous.

‘Mumbai Diaries’ is a rare mood piece to indulge in. Like the gooey, viscous chocolate lava that makes your hands dirty and leaves a flavor in your mouth that keeps you drooling for days!! Here’s last few words for those who hate this movie like my roommate who called me a movie whore–aahhh aaahhh aaaahhhh yes yes yessss…OMG that was so good! Suck it bitches.

(PS – Just plugged in the “Lovely Strangers” song once more)

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This was suppose to be a private conversation. Screenwriter & lyricist Varun Grover wrote something for Pavan Jha and mailed it to few of us. Loved it, and think am good in convincing (or call it threatening) people, and so, putting it as a post here. By the way, if you know Pavan Jha, you will get the context. And if you don’t know him, then you must. For everything thats hindi film music, Pavan knows it all. He also run the website http://www.gulzaronline.com/, and as friend once joked, if it’s a quiz on Gulzar, may be he wouldn’t know all the answers but Pavan will.

In yesterday’s Mint Lounge I-Day Special Edition Sidin Vadukut had a piece where he argued that Twitter is better than blog. Just 140 characters, say it, over and out. But we don’t agree. What do you do when you have to make a list ? So, we are back to a post which was in drafts for long time. And what better day than I-Day to put it out.

So, here is our list of Top 10 Twitteraties who blocked us in the last one year or so. And some, for damn fcuk funny reasons. Its time to celebrate our gag order and do tell us who blocked you and for what ? In no particular order…the new members of Fight Club Hall Of Shame…read on…

1. Mahesh Bhatt – He makes us feel that Itchgaurd will never make a loss till he is alive. But he gave us some brillant movies too. He is the biggest importer of talent from across the border, at the cheapest possible rate. But we loved his book A Taste Of Life too.

This time he was tweeting about how the Copyright Bill is not good for Bollywood. We decided to burst his tweets, retweeted them with the correct facts, that how its going to stop the exploitation of lyricists, singers, composers and how they will finally be able to retain the copyright of their compositions. With no straight arguements in hand (ok, may be he was busy itching), he clicked the BLOCKED button.

2. Vikram Bhatt – If Uncle is here, can the nephew be far behind! The director delivered more than dozen duds, all in a row. But we loved the HT Cafe covers that he wrote when Khalid Mohamed was the editor there. Aha, that love story also went kaput. Back to our story.

He tweeted – Mahakshay Chakraborty is the next big thing. Whoever disagrees has something coming! And we dared to disagree. Which sane person wouldn’t ? BTW, Mahakshay is MIMOH reloaded! And when we reacted in the nasty possible way, he told us – don’t be in too much of a hurry to write someone’s obituary. You are not even what he is.

But as Arnab Goswami would put it The country wants to know, who wants to be Mimoh or Mahaskahy and why ? Tell us NOW! Not us and we don’t know anyone with such a wish. But we have to thank him, he made us bit more (in)famous!

3. Shirish Kunder – This is our favourite story! It seems he discovered Adaptation quite late and tweeted that its a brillant film written by Charlie & Donald Kaufman. We corrected him. There is nobody called Donald. He again tweeted that how Charlie & Donald Kaufman were nominated for the Oscar Award for Adaptation. We again corrected him and retweeted that Donald Kaufman doesn’t exist. And don’t expect us to be sober when we are telling you something about someone whom we consider to be the God of screenwriting. And then boom..Blocked.

BTW, we think he shot some of the songs in Jaaneman superbly. His next is JOKER with Akshay Kumar. #JGrin. Get ready for all the puns, Mr. Donald Duck!

4. Sajid Khan – Aha, the gasbag! What do you call someone who made supershits like Heyy Potty and Housedull ? Not Filmmaker for sure. We call him Pottymaker. You need some talent to make such expensive potties and make people eat it too!

The last nail in our BLOCK coffin – he tweeted that Up In The Air was boring. He could not finish the film and stopped it midway. Ooh la la. Reaction and his action! Last heard, he is MIA on Twitterverse. We have started following the fake one.

5. Suhel Seth – Nobody knows about his day job. But we all know that he is a fuckall actor (Courtesy Pooja Bhatt). Does he sleep in tv studios ? How come he is such an authoritative voice on everything…from Arundhati to Arunachal and Commonwealth Games to Chinese Cuisine ? Does he have a twin brother ? Because sometimes he is on air at 2-3 channels at the same time. HOW ? Plus, he writes Agony Uncle columns too!

Can’t find the piece now but someone wrote a feature on him and enlightened us about his day job. We retweeted it with all our genuine concerns. The Agony Uncle went BANG! We like his Agony Uncle pose though! Check out the pic here, on the top left-hand corner of the website.

6. Shatrughan Sinha – Can’t locate him on Twitter now but swear, he was there. Was tweeting about his son Luv Sinha’s Saddiyaan. Guess it was the beta tweeting on behalf of daddy dearest. Ok, so we can cover both the Sinhas together. Go check No. 7.

7. Luv Sinha – Who ? Yes, that should be the first question. But then, thats how Bollylalaland operate. Ok, here is the joke of the century. Luv Sinha has two fan clubs on twitter. Here & here. But then, he can reply in another joke – Even Uday Chopra has a fan club. Aur bolo ?Can we please have one too ? Hands up ?

As we were busy cracking Sadiyaan jokes, the baap-beta duo shouted KHAMOSH!

8. Jitesh Pillaai – Bus naam hi kaafi hai ? Ok, Test your Bolly Quotient – Tell us the name of one editor who calls Sonam Kapoor as My Shona Chona or something like that ? Well, if you edit the most expensive and glossy toilet paper in the country, guess you can do so. We were cribbing about the toilet paper for a long time and finally one day he woke up and did the good tweed of the day!

BTW, did Kalmadi order the same toilet paper from filmUNfare office for CWG? It needs lot of talent to fill so many pages, issue after issue, with so much shit! Oh yeah, finally after ages they did a nice feature recently where they got Dibakar Bannerjee, Zoya Akhtar, Shimit Amin, Anurag Kashyap and Madhur Bhandarkar together for a delicious chat. But Madhur ????

But how can you let anyone to rate Once Upon A Time In Mumbai 4.5/5 stars!!!?? Even more than Peepli Live and many other such films. We happily crowned her the Jackass Critic Of The Week. And there she went…chore ko toh dikhte hai sab chor!

BTW, a bitchy actress called up to say that by the weekend she was celebrating the success of OUATIM at her best friend and producer Ekta Kapoor’s party. And she makes it to our sHIT List!

10. Like all those morons who dedicate their tweets to Anupam Kher, this one is dedicated to all those nameless and faceless creatures who blocked as for all the right reasons. Go kiddos, make your list and make us more famous. We Love Hate Storys and We Are Family for sure! Aha, KJo always comes so handy! Even on I-Day!

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Since last ten days, was completely out of social network. Friends, colleagues, well wishers and readers of our blog sent messages, mailed and tweeted to ask where have I vanished. Was busy with life, and death. May be the toughest ten days of my life. Because its scary when Goldman’s great quote on showbiz seems to apply on life too – Nobody knows anything. What do you do then ? Pray ? But am a born atheist. May be not any more, may be am converting.

Mr S.U.N

Just back from ISKCON, Juhu. Director Anurag Basu and his friends organised a meet to remember Sourabh Usha Narang. The young director who passed away on 26th june after a prolonged battle with cancer.

In the morning, I was in Calcutta. After almost ten days, returned to Mumbai by noon. And then it was straight down to ISKCON. Unlike many others who were present there, I wasn’t close to him, never worked with him and can’t really call him a friend too. But I knew him. And I felt like going there. I generally avoid going for any kind of days…birthdays, deathdays and all days in between. Either am scared of something or I get bored easily!

Had met Sourabh few times, here and there. And then sometime back, we met formally, through a producer friend. He was working on a film, looking for a writer. Talking movies in bollylalaland, aha, there is no end to bitchfest.

We started with the film, went back to our school life, college days, his college friend whom I knew and passed him some goss that he was happy to hear and was surprised, his tv days, and the shows which I saw when I was in school/college. And it seemed like a never ending session that day. He asked me to write few scenes – some he liked, some he wanted a different tone. After that, it was a comma, i was told. Never imagined that it will turn into a fullstop so soon.

Many films die everyday – on paper, at producers office, at actor’s house but people don’t. At least, those whom we know. So easily, so early. At 37, that’s just cruel.

It was a sunday afternoon of untold stories and uncontrollable tears that rolled. What happens between two people, remains between them. And with Sourabh, I guess, there was lot that happened between him and those who were there. Ketan Mehta, Anuradha Prasad, Mahesh Bhatt, Anurag Basu, Vijay Raaz, Vikas Behl, Chetan Motiwalla, Rucha Sharma, Sachin Krishn, Sohail Tatari, Vidya Balan and many of his friends came on stage to share those stories of dreams and demons, of fights and farewells, of writing and writhing, of daaru parties and dramas, of coffee and cigarettes. The list in endless. Some were calm, others took long pauses to gather their thoughts, some left the stage with incomplete sentences and some just could not control themselves. Its difficult talking about someone with whom you ever shared something memorable.

Kameena chala gaya…Vishal Bhardwaj’s voice choked as he remembered how Sourabh helped him direct his first short film. As he continued, the pauses became longer and he said he will just wrap it with two songs that he feels like singing – Paani paani re and the one that Sourabh loved – dil toh baccha hai ji. Rekha Bhardwaj and Ankur Tewari also sang – the songs that Sourabh loved, the songs that bonded them somehow, somewhere.

Saw many known and unknown faces, the auditorium was packed. Its rare in bollywood. Having seen the industry from close quarters in the last few years, have realised one thing – Nobody will come to your funeral if you had a glorious past but you have been out of work. And all the Khans & Kapoors will appear in spotless white if your next generation/company has a great future. To put it simply, in showbiz, people care about the future, not the past. So, it felt great in a way. Because here it was about a filmmaker who made just one film (Vastu Shastra. He did lot of tv before that) but people wanted to talk about him, share their memories, tell those tales. Every good friend deserves such a goodbye. It reminded me of the essay topic in school which I could not understand for a long time – we live in deeds, not in years.

I used to call him Mr S.U.N. Shine, wherever you are mister!

And as the saying goes…the only difference between life and cinema is that in cinema everything has to make sense and in life, it doesn’t. Aha, life!

Diving bells and a butterfly

The day I got to know about Sourabh’s death, I was in Calcutta. Too much was going on in my life. Someone close (G) was detected with a tumor in her spine. And at an age of 83, every doctor warned us of the risks involved. What risk ? Anything can happen. ANYTHING! They didn’t want to spell the bad word. Solution – Only surgery. Or ? There is no way out. Tumour will keep on growing. So, in worst case scenario – it was slow death in five years or in just two hours. Almost everyone was against surgery. The warnings from the doctor had created more fear. Slow death – no way. Whatever happens, will happen – lets go for it, I thought.

It started with convincing my parents, close relatives and then the most important person – G! No, i cant do anything. But i tried to talk to her everyday to make it sound that there is no risk, its a small surgery, the result will depend on what she thinks and believes in. That’s it. Told her about Roger Ebert and how he survived. About 101 year old director Manoel de Oliveira whose film was at Cannes this year. Lil’ tales of big hope and survival. I was trying to boost her confidence but I was scared, shit scared! Sourabh’s sudden death made it look more scary. Viveka Babajee’s news was all over the news channels. Seemed like the universe was conspiring and wanting to tell a different tale to me. I was trying to run to other side.

Days were spent in hospital, in the night I would try to find a reason to return home late. Because at home, the same discussions would go in loop. Walking down long distances, window shopping and some random films in the theatres saved me.

INT. AMRI HOSPITAL – Day

Baba..baba…baba…baba…baba…she whispered into his right ear. Or at least she thought she is whispering. With every “baba” her voice was growing louder. The man on the bed wasn’t responding in any way. There were several tubes, respirators and medical stuff which I cant identify, coming out and going in through different pores of his body. The man remained silent.

A security woman came from the other side announcing that visiting hours is over, time to leave. Please hurry up. The woman continued whispering Baba…baba…till the security woman asked her to leave the room.

Next day – I heard the same sound...baba…baba…baba….baba…the man was still silent. Third day, it was the same sound and the same expression. Fourth day…G was shifted to other room. Next day, I saw the woman’s face clearly, at the medical store. Completely calm, expressionless. May be her glasses covered her eyes or may be I need a new pair.

HDU Unit. Bed – 2460

The man on the left side of G’s bed was staring blankly at the ceiling. Another man standing next to his bed, pulls out the earphones from his pocket, connects it to the mobile phone and puts the plugs into the man’s ears. I guess it was some music he loved. They tried talking to him too. The man on the bed didn’t respond.

The next day, I smiled and we started talking. Got to know that the man on the bed was in CRPF. Had an accident, some major internal haemorrhage and now he has stopped responding. Though he can hear. So, everyday, during the visiting hours, his friend and brother come and play the songs that he loved. I asked him what songs. But we were lost in translation. English-Hindi-Tamil-Bengali – there was no common ground. I said Paruthiveeran, Subramanipuram…two of my favourite tamil films in recent past, to connect the dots somewhere. He said Singam. And then Suriya. His first film, saar. I guess he was playing the songs from Suriya’s first film.

Visiting hours over. They quietly took out the earplugs and left. A male nurse informed me that its the same routine since last few days.

Red Rose

Coming out of the lift, saw a man on wheelchair. He had a red rose in his hand. Think that’s the norm in the hospital, the sign of being discharged. Am not fond of flowers or roses as such, they look best in their natural environment. But this time I am desperately hoping for the red one. The surgery went fine. G survived. Finally a butterfly – it was a big relief. She asked for some hot drink just after she came out of the OT. The nurse smiled. She said was feeling very cold. I informed the nurse that Horlicks is her lifeline.

Was informed today that my G will be discharged soon. She is still under observation but is doing fine. Will she be able to walk again ? Goldman comes to mind again. And that’s the answer from the doctors too. Rest all depends on physiotherapy and her efforts. Yes, I will convert completely if G starts walking again.

( PS – Started writing the post yesterday. Could not complete. Was becoming too heavy. Also, do watch the film The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. Its a must must watch. The last film which blew my mind.)

Pic Courtesy – Am not sure who made that montage. It was put up at the meet along with few others. But whoever did it, thanks a ton)